


Push

by Rynfinity



Series: Out of the Mouths of Babes [9]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Bigotry & Prejudice, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:32:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You do know the two of you are going to have to talk about this, though, right,” she asks him.  “It’s really all about communication.  Communication and trust.”</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to Pull and will make the most sense read after its predecessors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm not sure," he tells the therapist, because he isn't. "It seems like an awful lot of responsibility. Sometimes I feel like I'm already carrying about as much responsibility as I can handle." More than he can handle, even, but Thor’s not quite sure he can admit that just now.

"You're not responsible for Loki," the social worker reminds him for probably the umpteenth time. "Loki is, by and large, a competent adult. What you are responsible for, though, is your own conduct."

"And that worries you," Thor finishes. Of course it does; how could it not?

"Actually," the therapist corrects gently, "I think that worries _you_."

Thor huffs. The circular logic employed here is as bad as being in court sometimes. "Don't you think it should? I've nearly killed him." Maybe that's a tiny exaggeration, just maybe, but he undeniably has - with nothing more than his own bare hands - done plenty of damage. “I’ve gone way overboard, and not just once or twice either.”

The therapist smiles a little; Thor senses the beginnings of a trap. He isn’t sure he’s quite got what it takes to dodge it. "Well, let's talk through that,” the social worker suggests. “What have you been able to identify, over time, as the biggest contributors to _going overboard,_ as you put it? In yourself, I mean," he amends. "I'm not looking - not right this moment - for a laundry list of your brother's various behaviors."

Thor sighs. He is tired of going through this and wishes he would just get it _right_ already. "I am too quick to express anger physically," he ticks off on his index finger. "Not just to safely blow off steam, I mean - I am too quick to behave aggressively." He holds up another finger and then ticks that one off as well. "I exercise poor judgment when I drink, especially if I drink to excess… and I don’t have a good sense of what _to excess_ means."

He thinks for a moment, feeling like he must be forgetting something. "Those are the biggest problems, I think. Oh..." - he ticks a third finger - "and one more: I tend to get frustrated when Loki is being stubborn or contradictory- no, wait," he says as the social worker, mouth opening, gears up to cut in. "It’s about me, honest. In those types of situations I tend to just take over and act unilaterally. I do the thinking for my brother rather than being patient and listening." He grins, all teeth. _Hah, see?_

The therapist smiles back. "Those are all good, valid points. Now, which of them applied the other night?"

Huh? "I'm- I-." He's suddenly lost when it comes to where this might be going. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"One at a time, then," his therapist offers. "When you, as you explained earlier, _did your best to follow Loki's instructions_ the other night, were you angry?"

Definitely not; he was scared. "No," he says, carefully not elaborating. "I wasn't," he reiterates when the therapist says nothing. "Not at all."

"Mm," the social worker hums. "And had you been drinking?"

He fights down the urge to go on the defensive - _of course not; I haven't had a drink since I-..._ \- and just shakes his head no. He can't even finish the thought; he sure as hell doesn't want to _talk_ about it.

The therapist taps his pencil against his pursed lips, clearly thinking. "And were you acting unilaterally, even on what you perceived to be Loki's behalf?"

That one is easier. "No, not at all," Thor says with more than a little pride. "I was listening and trying to accommodate his wishes."

The social worker nods again. "Okay, good. Thank you for confirming. All of that fits nicely with the way you described the evening to me earlier. To answer your question: No," he says, shaking his head, "in this particular situation, it doesn't really worry me." He shrugs a little, hands spread and eyebrows up. 

"Engaging in that sort of play with someone while angry or intoxicated, or when you're not willing or able to truly listen to his input? Yes, that's dangerous. But that isn’t what you’ve been saying happened; not at all." He waits a long moment, studying Thor's face in that _I can see all the monsters inside your head_ way he has. "So, again, _I think it worries you._ Are you willing to do a little investigation into why?"

Thor shrugs.

~

He'd been nervous enough at the time, Thor explains. He'd had a lot of questions, difficult ones he hadn't felt even close to comfortable asking. But he'd thought he'd found a compromise - licking and biting, especially biting, and using his weight without directed force - that had both prevented his own actions from escalating and kept him from getting too triggered.

And they'd both ejaculated, he explains, rather embarrassedly. Not that Loki doesn't have a history of getting off on the strangest things but, Thor reasons, at least this had given him the sense that his brother's body hadn't been too overwhelmed. It’s not like he’s looking for the Gold Sex Star here. It isn’t!

Afterwards, though, once he'd cleaned Loki up and petted him nicely to sleep, the old familiar nausea had started in.

~

"And why do you think that might have been," the therapist asks when Thor finishes the story.

He considers. And considers. “I was ashamed? I could see him lying next to me, and I couldn’t help but picture how – under the blankets - he was all covered with darkening bruises,” he explains, voice catching. “I felt awfully guilty.”

“Have you made time to talk at all with Loki about your feelings?”

_God, no._ “I- I couldn’t,” he says, trying to sound a little calmer than he feels. “I can’t. He- he actually seemed really happy the next morning, like the whole thing _worked_ for him somehow, and I didn’t want to- to tarnish that enjoyment, I guess.”

The social worker cocks his head to one side. “Is this sort of dynamic anything you’ve ever explored before? Not just with Loki, I mean; is it something you’ve ever tried, at all?”

Thor shakes his head no. He can feel his face turning red and hot. “I’ve done some reading about it since that night, though. On the Internet. I know, I know; don’t even,” he adds as his therapist smiles. “I think maybe I could handle being- a _service top?_ I think that’s the right way to phrase it? But, no, I don’t think I know anyone who does it.” And if he does, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know _that_

“A friend of mine has a lot of related experience,” the counselor offers. “You’ve probably met her, actually; she works in risk mitigation at the facility where Loki did his inpatient stay. Her name is Natasha. She’s a mixed martial artist, too.”

“Ah, yes. Red hair. I can totally see that – her being into the kinky shit, I mean - now that you mention it,” Thor confirms, laughing.

The therapist laughs with him. Or maybe it’s at him. “I wouldn’t say anything remotely like that in front of her if I were you,” he cautions. “Not unless you want a very hands-on demonstration. Anyway,” he continues, still laughing, “do you want me to check with her and see if she’s willing to talk?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Thor assures him, even though he’s not sure that’s actually true.

~

Once he gets past the initial embarrassment, though, he has to admit sitting down with Natasha was a very good idea.

Her matter-of-fact approach to- well, to pretty much everything, from what he can tell leaves Thor feeling a lot less freakish. She has multiple long-term play partners and is able to fill him in quite nicely on how the whole business works.

She directs him to some useful-sounding books, and even lets him borrow a couple so he can read them without committing.

He learns, speaking with her, that – on top of her day job – she counsels people regularly on BDSM relationship dynamics.

Too, and perhaps most important, she _knows_ his brother; she’s seen and dealt with Loki at what has to have been far, far from his best. Hearing _her_ confirm that an occasional (or more; whatever they’re both comfortable negotiating, from a frequency standpoint) turn taken as a service top might be a good way for Thor to help his brother meet some of his otherwise (dangerously) unmet needs is surprisingly reassuring.

“You do know the two of you are going to have to talk about this, though, right,” she asks him as they’re winding up. “It’s really all about communication. Communication and trust.”

Thor sighs. “I do.” He does. “I just don’t want to be a total idiot about it. Or to blow it.” That’s even more true… if this is something he can give his brother, something that will make their lives easier and less dangerous, he wants to do it.

She smiles. She’s really very pretty, and she reminds him of Loki. “You’re no fool, Thor. Do your homework and I don’t think you will blow it. How _is_ your brother,” she asks as they get to their feet. “He’s sticking it out in day treatment?”

“He is doing well,” Thor assures her, beaming. “He has his days, but we are happy.”

And as he says it, he’s a little surprised to realize it’s very nearly true.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets don't stay secret; others do.

" _What_ are you playing at," Odin demands. He stormed in here without warning, after a long shouting match with his speakerphone that Thor could hear - the tone, if not the content - all the way from the big corner office, and is now straining across the big wooden desk like a vicious, rabid dog. "That was Coulson just now. You, Thor Odinson, owe me one hell of an explanation," he accuses, shaking a thick finger not even an inch from Thor's nose.

Thor swallows hard. He simply cannot let his father get the upper hand, or the world will end. "Shut the door," he says, as calmly as he can.

Odin blinks. "Excuse me?" He pulls back a little.

"You heard me," Thor tells him firmly. "If you want to discuss this, you need to start by shutting the door."

The whole business clearly catches Odin off guard. It’s almost as if he's never been challenged before and can't even begin to make sense of it.

Which probably isn't that far from the truth... the latter part, at least, if not the former.

Thor sits motionless and silent, waiting with dry mouth and racing heart to see what his father will do. After maybe half a minute of uncomfortable staring-contest-style confrontation, Odin straightens up a little stiffly and turns to close the door.

"Thank you," Thor offers, coldly formal. "Now have a seat and we'll talk like civilized human beings." They aren't, either of them, but he knows they can both fake it when they have to.

Right now, they have to. They are dancing in a fucking minefield.

Odin stands for another long moment, chin jutting, shoulders squared, beefy fists on hips, and then finally drags out a chair. The legs scrape harshly across the floor; it's like nails on a chalkboard and Thor shivers. He simply can't envision a version of this conversation in which both of them leave this room alive.

"Now you _will_ tell me what the fuck is going on," Odin demands, but then he keeps right on talking without giving Thor even the briefest of openings in which to respond. "Coulson was over at the appellate court this morning - _on official government business,_ like always; that man is so full of shit his eyes are brown - and it seems he ran into Judge Jormungand."

Odin pauses, staring Thor down with his one pale eye. "And old Yormy started to share the oddest, most far-fetched bit of gossip Phil says he's ever heard. Right up until his Honor realized Phil clearly had no idea in hell what he was talking about; then the old snake clammed right up and couldn't be budged for love or money. Not that Phil can offer much of either," he adds, evidently forgetting momentarily – and certainly not for the first time – that he's not here on a social call.

The old man sure does love the sound of his own voice.

It’s a good thing one of them does.

"What did Coulson say," Thor asks. He's not going to be tricked into confessing so much as one single sin unnecessarily. He only falls for that stunt on rare occasion these days. 99% of the time, too, the person who does manage to put one by him is Loki.

"Are you sure you don't want the chance to give me your version first," Odin offers nastily. Rather unsurprisingly, his father has quickly reverted to _ogre mode._

"What did he say," Thor repeats. He's had a lot of practice at _staying calm_ recently, and he's needing every second of it here.

Odin's eye narrows. "He tells me you're under motion to be disbarred."

_Oh fucking hell._ Thor takes a deep breath and lets it out before responding. "Yes, that's true."

"What?!" Odin half-lunges forward, hands slamming down on Thor's desk. "Why- what- when the hell were you planning to _share_ this little gem with me," he splutters.

"I wasn't," Thor responds. Short and not so sweet; like it or not, there is simply no good way to play this.

"You _weren't_ ," Odin says flatly, like his brain simply can't process what his ears are hearing. "Just who did you think would be helping extricate your worthless ass from all this, then?"

_Not you, certainly,_ Thor thinks, _even if I somehow wanted you to._ Which he doesn't. "I don't want to get out of it," he offers instead. "I was the one who petitioned for it, actually, in a roundabout ki-."

"Have. You. Lost. Your. Goddamned. Mind," Odin bellows, furious, thumping the desk with each clipped word.

_Maybe,_ Thor thinks. _Maybe I have, and what of it?_ "No," he says simply instead.

"Tell me, then: Why, exactly, have you embarked on this lunatic crusade?"

Thor quickly weighs his options and comes up- well, empty. "Not that you would understand," he starts in, letting himself slip just a little, "but: for Loki."

"For Loki," Odin repeats, more quietly now. He shakes his head in apparent disbelief. "I should have let that cursed little runt die when I had the chance," he says, mostly under his breath, and just like that Thor has never despised his father more. "What, are you going to add a footnote to his tombstone? _Not the dumber brother after all?_ "

"It's not like that," Thor tells his father. He's so angry he's trembling. He could kill Odin here and now - literally kill him, snap that wrinkly, saggy old neck like kindling - but Loki needs a brother _who is not in jail forever_. He swallows the urge down, fighting not to let it gag him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to hop on a call."

"Do you have any idea how this is going to make me look," Odin asks, making no move to leave.

"It doesn't have to make you look like anything," Thor snaps. Like the old asshole would think for one second about someone other than himself. "As you said, _old Yormy_ isn't half the gossip he fancies himself," he elaborates, voice under a little better control, "and I'm moving out of the area in a few weeks." So much for keeping his options open. "Sif and I are heading west," he adds, following Loki's expert tutelage and lying with the plain and simple truth. "She got an amazing job, and I have some solid-."

"Sif," Odin repeats, and his face actually fucking lights up for a second. "You're back with Sif."

_Sorry, Loki,_ Thor thinks as he carefully neither affirms nor denies. He hopes his brother would understand that he's saving them both this way. "We're getting a place,” he says instead, letting his father fill in the missing pieces.

"I always knew no son of mine could be a faggot," Odin declares, almost cheerful.

Proud.

_Dis-fucking-gusting._

Not knocking his father senseless may just beat out _the many trials and tribulations of loving Loki_ in the competition for the hardest thing Thor has ever done. "Get out," he growls, glaring daggers at Odin, and picks up his phone.

~

"You handled that amazingly well," Sif compliments him as she stretches a mozzarella stick until the strand of cheese between the two halves sags dangerously. “Seriously. I’m most impressed.”

Loki stretches up from where he's sprawled lazily, his head in her lap, and hooks the yellow-white string with his tongue.

"Bastard," she complains, winking at Thor with a good-natured laugh, all the while forcing his brother's mouth open with one hand and cramming in cheese with the other. Loki licks her fingers; she curses and cuffs him playfully across the side of the face.

"Enough, you two," Thor warns, but he can't help laughing with them. He feels a whole lot lighter, even though on the surface things are a lot worse than they were this morning.

"Aww, bruddy-wuddy's jealous," Loki teases around half a mouthful of breaded cheese. He stretches all the way up to plant a tomato-sauce-smeared kiss on Sif’s cheek; she dumps him unceremoniously onto the floor. "Ouch. Women these days," he grumbles, shaking his head in mock annoyance. "They just don't value a little old fashioned chivalry." He ducks her next swing and scoots over to where Thor is draped over the big armchair. "Save me from the evil wench, brother!"

Sif flips another mozzarella stick at Loki's head.

Thor catches it neatly, sticks one end in his own mouth, and bends down to feed the remainder – with his teeth, of course, because it’s that kind of evening – to his brother. They finish it off with a hot, messy, greasy kiss, Loki nipping Thor’s bottom lip hard and Thor tangling slimy, sticky fingers in his brother’s hair.

Sif wolf-whistles loudly. “Get a room, you two.”

When they break apart, Loki’s eyes are dark and smoldering. Thor wipes a big smear of sauce off his brother’s mouth with one thumb and is just thinking of diving back in – Sif be damned – when Loki smiles.

“She’s right, you know,” his brother says. “You were amazing.” And then he smirks. “But don’t get me wrong; you’re still an asshole.”

It feels _good_ to laugh; to really laugh, and really mean it. He needs it like crazy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki check out the new town.

"This place is a shithole," Loki pronounces, looking around them at the street full of small business and stores.

It's really not. It's just a little too dated in places to qualify for _quaint,_ perhaps, but - all things considered - the overall impression it gives is _perfectly decent_. 

But Loki is In A Mood and nothing Thor's tried seems to be shaking him out of it.

"The day treatment place looked good, don’t you think," he prompts. _It did,_ he thinks, when Loki only snorts derisively. The facility itself was clean and pleasant, with absolutely no industrial green paint anywhere to be seen, and the treatment team was on the ball. They'd clearly already spoken in considerable detail with Loki's team at home - Thor is testing out _where we used to live_ in the privacy of his own head, so he'll be prepared when the time comes, but he’s not quite ready to say it aloud yet - and everyone was friendly, compassionate, and brimming with intelligent questions.

The facility is also in easy walking distance of what will soon be their new apartment, without any questionable areas in between (and, yes, Thor knows that even the nice-seeming areas can surprise you, but the street at least looks safe), so they can start talking about Loki getting there and back unsupervised.

That last bit gives Thor chills, especially after what happened the fateful night he went drinking with Odin, but realistically speaking he can't keep his brother locked in a shiny glass cage forever. He may not like it, but he knows it just the same.

Speaking of escaping from cages… even with Loki at the height of cranky, Thor is really, really enjoying one thing: He and his brother are strolling down a busy street in broad daylight, in plain view of thousands of lunch-seeking people, together. _Holding hands,_ even, just like a normal couple.

For once, they don't have to worry about being seen.

Looking around, too, Thor sees a few other same-sex couples - both men and women - out enjoying the nice weather. While he's by no means naive enough to think they'll be completely free of _other people's ignorance and the hate it breeds_ here, right now no one is paying them any mind. It’s incredibly lovely.

He stops abruptly, letting Loki's own momentum carry them both around so they're nearly face to face. "What the hell are you do-?" is all Loki manages before Thor scoops him close and silences him with a kiss.

He makes it a nice long, enthusiastic kiss, too; one with which his brother mostly cooperates, after the first shock wears off.

It's the first time in all their long, complicated journey together they have ever kissed freely and openly in public. Ever.

"I'm going to _like_ this place," Thor exclaims when Loki eventually loses patience with him and wriggles free.

"It's still a shithole," his brother grumbles, but he's almost smiling and he sounds – considering this is Loki – significantly happier than he had just a few minutes earlier.

~

"I know this is going to be difficult," Thor acknowledges. They're having lunch at a small, welcoming cafe, a nice romantic place with a wood-fired pizza oven. Loki is still sulkier than sulky, sure, but he's making a good dent in his pizza and he's not fighting Thor's attempts at playing footsie... even though they are seated at a window-front high-top. Overall Thor counts it as a win.

"You have no idea," Loki responds. "Not one single fucking solitary clue."

"Sif will keep us in line," Thor tells his brother with an air of confidence that might just be half-faked. "We'll make it work."

"And if we don't," Loki asks just as Thor takes an inappropriately large bite of pizza. "What then?"

 _There is no then_ , Thor thinks, chewing and swallowing as fast as he safely can. "We will."

~

Leaving his brother on a park bench outside the office feels almost unacceptably chancy, especially with the impressively bad mood Loki is still managing to cultivate, but Thor has an interview and he can't very well show up dragging along his baggage.

There’s nothing to be done for it. He crosses everything he has to cross, kisses Loki on the head after his brother - flipping through the gazillion tourist guides they grabbed at a kiosk near the restaurant - refuses to even look up, and heads for the big glass doors.

~

They love him. They liked him in his phone screen – he wouldn’t be here now, otherwise - but in person they just love him. Thor's accustomed to being loved; he knows exactly how to work this sort of meeting to best advantage.

By the time they get to the really difficult questions, he's pretty confident he has them right where he wants them.

"I have to tell you, Mr. Odinson," the logistics manager says with an earnest expression Thor would practically kill to see on Loki's face, "we're a small fish in a small pond here; a tiny local company. We can't offer the sort of salary or bonuses our competition can. Frankly, we're thrilled to have someone of your caliber showing such interest."

Thor nods, smiling his best disarming smile, and offers up something wonderfully appropriate - something _touching_ \- about valuing the perks they _do_ provide over any amount of money.

The interview goes on in that vein until – and it was bound to happen; no surprises here, really, as they've clearly done their homework - there it is, the question he’s been dreading: "To be honest, we are a bit concerned about one thing. We understand you're surrendering your law license, and I don't feel like we have a good sense of the _why._ Can you fill us in a little more on what happened?"

The whole interview team watches him closely, expectantly, their faces pinched with compassionate-looking worry. Thor makes his decision. He hates taking this route – he does; he’s not his brother… or his father - but it’s what needs to be done. Overall, the discussion really is going quite a bit better than it could be.

He's practiced having this conversation. He's ready. It's no worse than court, and it's actually quite a bit easier than facing off against Odin. _You want the job,_ Thor reminds himself, _but you don't need it. Just do this the way you planned, and let things go from there._ He clears his throat. "Excuse me," he apologizes politely. "This is a rather difficult for me."

It's a risky move, the sympathy play, but it appears to work; to a person, their faces soften still further. "I had to make a choice between saving the life of someone very dear to me and staying within the letter of the law. Which, as I'm sure you know," he adds (reasonably certain they _don’t_ know; not at all), "is incredibly specific. It was a very difficult situation, and one I hope never to be faced with again."

It's all true.

Leading, yes, but true. And these nice people are not lawyers.

"Can you tell us a little more about what drove your decision?" The fact they're still asking is a good sign; they _want_ this to work out.

So does he.

Thor takes a deep breath, very quietly. _Act natural,_ he reminds himself.

"Of course," he assures them, not tacking on "I'd be happy to" because, in front of this audience, doing so simply feels wrong. "My dearest friend was in jail, and I used my influence to get him out before he’d served his full sentence. Not as a favor, of course," he continues before they can start to formulate the wrong sorts of questions (or ideas, even). "He was suicidal and not getting the proper care.” Thor pauses briefly to let the words sink in.

“After his release, I helped get him into a residential psychiatric setting that was far more appropriate for his needs. It was a big sacrifice, yes, but I simply could not stand by and let him die. Not just so I could go on practicing law," he adds, skillfully bringing the whole thing home on just the right note, “and certainly not when I had the means to provide a workable alternative.”

The marketing manager looks- well, very sad. Just short of distraught, even. Thor has seen that look on the faces of countless jurors; more than likely, she has a friend or relative with a similar (but likely more tragic… so far, at least, and he hopes like hell it stays that way) story. “And you weren’t able to- there wasn’t any leniency,” she asks, voice wavering as thought she might cry.

It’s a great question – he couldn’t have paid for better. “The state in which I’ve been practicing is very strict when it comes to this sort of thing,” he offers. “But, more important, my father is the District Attorney. I simply could not ask him for a favor- for something that might damage his career.” It’s not the least bit untrue. It’s not. Like the entire rest of the story, it’s just a bit less than complete.

A big bit, sure, but who needs to know that? It’s a far smaller lie than the ones he and his brother are living now.

Thor spreads his hands as if to say _there you have it._ A quick look around the room reassures him, too… open, relaxed body language (except the sad woman; she’s kind of hugging herself, to the point where he feels more than a little guilty), concerned faces, nodding heads. Bottom line? They’re eating this up. Perfect. And, in case he needed further evidence, there’s this: The interview continues, attention focused once again on work-specific topics, for well over half an hour.

~

Thor exits back through the big glass doors, feeling pretty good about things, only to have his stomach crash through the sidewalk and his heart stop. He freezes, one hand still holding the door handle.

_The fucking bench is empty._

~

“I was hot,” Loki whines as Thor hurries him just a little too forcefully down the sidewalk. “If you’d taken half a goddamned moment to pay attention, rather than flipping out the way you did, you would’ve undoubtedly noticed that bench is now baking in the sun. And you know how much,” his brother fusses, stumbling a little over an uneven bit of sidewalk, “I hate baking in the sun.”

“And you couldn’t fucking text? It was so hot your thumbs stopped working?” Thor is angry now, in the wake of that first soul-crushing terror, and he’s having a little trouble dialing it back just yet.

“No, you big oaf. Oww,” Loki protests as Thor’s fingers dig sharply into his biceps. “Let go. I’m not going anywhere. Jesus.”

Thor makes himself release his brother. Loki rubs his arm gingerly, glaring out from under an almost comedic over-acted frown. Except nothing is funny just now. Not to either of them, really, from the looks of it.

Loki huffs, still rubbing his arm. “You were in a job interview, stupid. I know how important this is to you. To us. I wasn’t going to text you in the middle of your big chance and run the risk of wrecking it for you. And fuck, Thor, I was _one bench down._ One. Bench. I guess I put a little too much faith in your ability to turn that hunk of rock you call a head left and right.”

For well over a minute neither of them speaks. The mid-afternoon shoppers part around them like water. _They go left and right better than my rock of a head,_ Thor thinks. He shakes said head ruefully.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Loki. “I’m a little stressed-out right now.” He doesn’t want to come across like he’s blaming his brother; he’s not, not at all. “I just- I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

Something that’s almost a smile quirks Loki’s mouth. “Oh, please. You’d do exactly what you always do: You’d find a way to fix it.”

Thor frowns. “So, was the whole thing about the arm an act?” He kind of hates it that his brother can still play him like a cheap piano after all these years and all this therapy.

Loki grins sheepishly. “Yes. Well, and no. It did hurt. It still does. But I was mainly just feeling sorry for myself.” He looks down, then slowly back up with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m a little stressed out these days too.”

“I know you are, baby,” Thor tells him, sighing, giving in and resigning himself to getting played. He takes Loki’s hand, gently this time, and laces their fingers together. In the end, he’s just grateful his brother's here to play him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki talk to their family counselor about what happened. It hurts but it helps.

"This is stupid," Loki scoffs. "Why are we even having this conversation?"

"Loki, please let Thor finish," the doctor reminds him. “When it's your turn, I'll be more than happy to entertain your questions. Go ahead, Thor," he advises as Loki simmers in visibly angry silence.

Even facing forward Thor can see his brother - long legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded across a small decorative pillow, ass scooted all the way to the edge of the couch cushion, face a thundercloud - out of the corner of his eye and it's distracting. He has a hard time collecting the scattered fragments of his thoughts back into anything close to useful. "When- when I came out of my interview and Loki wasn't there-,"

"I _was_ th-," Loki cuts in, stopping abruptly when the doctor raises a hand and letting out a frustrated growl instead. Loki positively radiates exasperation, to the point Thor thinks he might burn himself if he made the mistake of trying to touch his brother.

"... and Loki wasn't there," Thor tries again, fighting the urge to slap Loki, "I lost it." He stops at that point, waiting for another prompt.

"Can you tell me what you thought might have happened," the doctor asks, again signaling Loki to keep quiet.

"I thought he had taken off on me." He carefully doesn't look over at his brother.

"How long would you say your interview took," the doctor asks, making a note on his pad.

Thor squints at the ficus in the corner, mentally totaling it the whole process up. "Two hours, probably, from when I first reported to reception until I walked back outside."

The doctor makes another note. "And in those two hours, is it possible Loki needed to use the restroom or felt thirsty or just got tired of sitting and wanted to walk around?"

Thor shrugs. Of course it's possible. "I asked him to stay put." He sneaks a peek at his brother; Loki is watching the doctor, smirking nastily.

"Do you remember what you felt when you saw the empty bench?"

He sure does. "I was fucking terrified," he offers, leaning forward. "The- the worst flashed through my mind. I thought he might be hurt," he adds, when the doctor motions for him to continue, "or- or dead."

"Thor, do you trust your brother?" The doctor sets his pen down and watches Thor carefully.

Something in his chest twists miserably. "I- I want to, more than anything, but- sometimes I just can't." 

Next to him, Loki hisses.

"Loki," the doctor warns. "Can you tell me why you feel you can't trust him," he continues, looking back at Thor.

He doesn't want to say it, but it sure as hell wants to be said; the words all but tear themselves out of him. "He hurts himself. On purpose. I know he's supposedly working on that," - he winces, belatedly realizing he's going to be taken to task for that little judgmental bit - "but I- I just don't feel like he's done with it. Not completely."

Sure enough. "Let's give Loki credit for working on the things he tells us he's working on."

Thor nods. He fights not to sigh in frustration. "He tells me he's working on it," he dutifully rephrases, "but I don't feel comfortable that he's there yet."

"Thank you, Thor," the doctor offers before turning to look at Loki. Thor twists to look at him too; his brother is silently _seething_. He has to look away. "Loki, before we get to your questions, can you share what you just heard?"

When they first started coming here, Loki would mock terribly; he would repeat all of the _ums_ and all of the stammering in a tone of voice that just set Thor's teeth on edge.

Thankfully, he seems to have at least moved past that... although what actually comes out of his mouth - "Thor is feeling sorry for himself," Loki grits out in a beleaguered-sounding, strained voice, "because when he came out of the building and I wasn't precisely where he left me, he overreacted. Except he thinks it's not overreacting," his brother continues on, "because I still want to hurt myself. He's right there, you know, for the record and all" – ends up being far worse, at least in every way that matters.

Thor opens and closes his mouth, his own words failing him. When he opens it again, determined to get something out, the doctor gestures _wait_.

"You want to hurt yourself," he confirms, sounding much calmer than Thor is feeling.

Loki shrugs. "Why wouldn't I?"

The doctor frowns slightly. "Well, I can think of a number of reasons. I'm guessing your brother can as well." He looks to Thor, eyebrows coming up, questioning; Thor nods and forces out a soft hum of agreement. "But right now I'm more interested in what _you're_ thinking, Loki. Why do you think it's only natural for us to believe you deserve to be hurt?"

Loki rolls his eyes, hugging the pillow closer. "I'm a monster. A hopelessly broken monster. Do you have any idea some of the things I've done? Do you?" He's talking fast now, curled forward off the cushions and breathing hard. "I've tried to kill myself. I've dealt drugs. I'm an addict and a felon. I cut myself just to see the blood, to feel the pain, to give this horrible, twisted carcass what it deserves."

Much as he would rather not, Thor can't help but watch his brother now. He fights the terrible urge to close his eyes and cover his ears and howl.

"I've sold my flesh and my soul, sometimes to the lowest bidder," Loki goes on, voice cold and brittle with disgust. "I'm crazy. And dangerous. An unemployable burden to society... and now I'm fucking my brother, and destroying his life in the bargain." He gasps a little for air, still curled forward, fingers dug hard into his own arms. "And you wonder why I deserve to hurt? You are as stupid and misguided as this idiot here," he rasps, gesturing towards Thor with a jerk of the head. "There, it's all out in the open," he adds after a few ragged breathes, flopping back against the cushions and glaring at Thor. "Feel better? Because I sure as fuck don't!"

"Do you love me, Loki," Thor asks, pleading, before the doctor can cut him off. He's shaking, positively sick with fear.

Loki turns to look at him, expression shuttered and eyes blank. "Sentiment," he breathes, voice almost too quiet to hear.

What Thor manages to catch onto, though, is what _isn't_ said. _It isn't hopeless_ , he thinks. His brother expressly didn't say _no._

~

He doesn't listen very well during the rest of the session... just sits there numb and shell-shocked as the doctor strives to determine whether or not Loki poses an immediate danger - to himself, to anyone.

Thor doesn't care. He just wants to take Loki home and make everything okay.

Finally, the doctor asks Loki to step out for a moment. It's all Thor can do, heart hammering in his chest, not to leap up and run after his brother.

"I realize the two of you have been dealing with this for a long time," the doctor tells Thor, "but I want to be sure you understand: This particular piece of the puzzle is about Loki, not about you. You cannot save him from his own choices."

"I know," Thor says, because he knows it is the proper answer, the expected answer, but he really just wants to cry.

"That said, this does tie into some of the patterns you're trying to break for yourself, and it certainly contributes to the ongoing struggles you both face. It makes both processes a little more challenging."

Thor nods. He just wants this done. Right now he can neither hear nor see Loki, Loki who is fired-up and unpredictable, and he's terrified. In the end, try as he might, he can't hold back. "And what happens if I get out there and he's gone?"

"There's a chime on the suite door," the doctor assures him. "And if it sounds I can put the building on lockdown. No need to worry; he's still here."

_So this haven is really just another pretty jail._

~

When they get home, Loki is actually surprisingly cheerful. All insistence to the contrary aside, getting some of that anger out must have left him feeling better. Thor lets it go without comment; frankly, it was an incredibly wrenching session and he will take a breather wherever he can get one.

The two of them chat amicably about the interview, and then about their prospective hometown. While Loki still manages to get in a few digs here and there, he does concede that being able to be themselves - and to get out in daylight, to play and hike and swim and just catch a late breakfast or a leisurely lunch at a cafe downtown - will be a very pleasant change.

All that talk about breakfasts and lunches does it. After Thor's stomach rumbles loudly for the fourth or fifth time, they give in and order Chinese takeout delivered. Thor lets Loki go down to the door and pay; Loki doesn't bother with a shirt and comes back laughing, arms laden with white, folded-topped bags. "I thought he was going to tip _me_ ," his brother volunteers, still laughing, and Thor finds himself smiling as well.

He slides down off the couch and onto the hardwood, resting back against the seat cushion with legs sprawled wide apart. He pats the floor between his thighs. "C'mere."

Loki does, but facing Thor (which wasn't quite what he intended; still, he'll work with it). His brother hands him a container and chopsticks and they both dig in eagerly. After a few serious mouthfuls to take the worst edge off, they start messily feeding one another.

After that, what started out as a meal is really more like sex. By the time Loki finally has his mouth around Thor's cock instead of his food, head bobbing and cheeks hollowed, they are already both sticky-sweet and salty head to toe with duck sauce and soy and oily bits of noodle.

~

When Thor finally stops shuddering and jerking and can open his eyes, Loki is watching him. His brother wipes his own face on the back of one wrist, catching a stray drizzle of Thor's semen and wincing as his own hair sticks fast to that forearm. "Ugh," Loki complains, still the better part of cheerful. "Shower?"

Thor smiles. "Soon. After I repay a favor," he continues, laughing a little breathlessly, as he pushes Loki backwards and down into the sloppy remains of their dinner.

It takes quite a lot of effort to work Loki's filthy sweats past his hips one-handed, all the while keeping him pinned amongst the wreckage with a big hand to the sticky, writhing chest. Oh, and still trying to catch his own breath to boot.

From the sounds that spill from Loki's mouth as Thor sucks him off with wild abandon, though, it couldn't be more worth it.


End file.
